


Ashes Fall

by AmaranthBlacktree



Series: The Dragon Age Gospels: AU Excerpts [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Rutherford deserves better than me I'm sorry, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, F/M, Gen, Help, My Normal Style of Emotional Bullshit, Orlais, Tevinter Imperium, Thedas, This started because Sims 3, Trauma, What even am I doing anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthBlacktree/pseuds/AmaranthBlacktree
Summary: After all is said and done, The Tevinter Imperium has a bone to pick with the Inquisitor still.





	Ashes Fall

               The morning opens with the creeping curls of fog, gliding silently down the stairs that she can see from behind the bars of her cage. The open fires in their steel esschert, hiss wickedly and pop when the moisture comes too close to the crackling flames. The gleaming metal bears the crest of the Black Divine, adding to the eeriness of the morn. Aedraenne stirs slowly to meet the dawn, her singular hand reaching to rub at each eye in turn.

                Tired eyes watch as it collects as morning dew on the stones still damp from yestermorn’s dawning. It trails further towards her, collecting thickly almost like smoke as it travels, until it begins to curl around filthy pale feet. Slowly she reaches with a trembling hand through the tendrils, thin fingers disturbing the roiling surface as it spins wildly from the disturbance. Chains clink noisily as her hand moves, breaking the silence of the room and ringing in her ears painfully.

               It’s been such a long time since she’s felt shackles such as these, and the weight of them is terrifying. The last time she had been bound thusly, she had embarked on a mission of such gravity that even now she can scarcely believe that it happened. It is only the scars that she now bears, and the missing limb that remind her of how far she’s come.

               Something that was snatched away the minute she was taken.

               One moment Inquisitor Lavellan, leader of the Holy Armies for the Divine. Wife to First General Cullen Rutherford and a powerhouse in her own right in terms of magical might. Here, drugged out on magebane and shackled in mana draining shackles that cinch too tightly even on her thin body she comes to the realization that this time, there may be no way out of the chains binding her.

               Heavy footfall in the courtyard above catches her attention, and she pulls herself to her feet. Shuffling like a newborn Halla, she wobbles to the small arched grate. Weak sunlight barely lights the plaza beyond, as it’s been for the past few days orders in Tevene are barked as they amass thick faggots and place them in a large pile just a few paces from where she’s trembling.

               They’re planning to burn her.

               The question is when? She’s been here for a solid week. Her treatment has been typical, little food and the occasional kife-ear comment. But barring that, she hasn’t been tortured, or harmed any other way. What they’re waiting for she has no idea, and them drawing it makes her even more nervous.

               She knows her people, and she know they’ll find her. Leliana didn’t make it to be Divine without her exceptional skills and extensive network of spies. They’ll have let her know where she’s been taken, and from there they’ll dispatch her crew. She only hopes that they keep Cullen at Skyhold. This is one fight she doesn’t think they can win.

 

 

                The passage of time is both swift and slow in confinement. Days spent worrying drag on agonizingly slow and painful. The nights are quick and restless, a blink and they’re over and she’s back to pacing the small cell the twelve steps across, and twelve back only to turn and do it all over again. Hour after hour, day after day. Each dawn comes with renewed fear and hope that today she’ll be found and the nightmare will end, or alternatively the drums will sound her dirge and she’ll be marched to her death. It’s exhausting and she can’t stomach the rations she’s given, stomach cramping with worry and heart soaring with hope at each footfall she hears.

 

                Another fortnight passes and she falls ill, feverish and weak. Hours mean nothing and she loses sense of time. Faces flicker before her, some she knows other are nightmarish and fearsome. Each emits sounds that sound familiar and otherworldly all at once. The magebane is taking its toll on her, sapping her mana and irritating her skin. The manacles tear at her flesh as she thrashes in the fever’s hold.

 

                One more grey morning comes, and the fever recedes in the face of the cool morning air. Her eyes struggle in the weak light to focus on anything and she rolls to her side, sighing in relief as the cold stone presses to her fevered skin. The morning stillness is broken by one beat of a drum and her heart stops cold. Struggling to her feet she moves to the grate to try and peer into the plaza above only to see throngs of robed people milling round the square. A loud clang brings her back to the cell and she stands straighter, head lifting high as she turns to face the intruder.

                “Come along now,” The man is masked and speaks thickly in common as he motions to her.

                With every scrap of dignity she can muster she moves to him, every lesson Josephine taught her coming back enforce. Shoulders straight, head held high she walks astride him, every inch the Inquisitor that she was taught to be.

                The weather is as grim as she feels, grey skies let loose a thin misting of precipitation, round their feet swirls the tendrils of fog that she has come to know only adding to the dreariness of the dawn. They mount the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cold stones as they climb the set to ground level. She can hear the drums more clearly now, her heart beats in time with them as they move ever closer.

                They round an archway and she can finally see her destination. They’ve made a mockery of both her Inquisitorial throne and the Sunburst throne. Twisted and debased, she can see why it’s taken them so long to bring her forth. As she walks, the crowd parts before them. Silent and calm, people peer into her face as she passes. There is hatred there, and fear. She can smell it on them.

                The guard pushes her forward, the drums roll again. Their beat changes and far above the courtyard a loud call echoes in the silence. Aedraenne looks up to see a man she can only assume is the Black Divine looking down on her.

                “Before you stands the Herald of the Blasphemer Andraste.” At the words the crowd begins to call out, some in common, some Tevene.

                “She stands accused of a multitude of Charges that are as follow; Aiding and abetting the Pretender Divine on the Sunburst Throne. And working under the pretense of being Andraste reincarnated and blaspheming supposed Wills of the Maker.”

                Murmurs broke out around her, breaking the otherwise silent courtyard. Aedraenne shuffled nervously at the guard’s side, knowing all too well what could happen once a crowd became riled. Above her the voice continued to call out the charges.

               “Disrupting Trade within the Imperium, by releasing cargo in the Hissing Wastes and shutting down Lyrium routes on the Storm Coast. Knowingly aiding the Qunari in the damaging of a Imperial War Ship. Massacring Magister Researchers and their pupils in the Western Approach. Disruption of the Magisterium with supposed intrigues, intimidation and blackmail.”

                The pockets of murmurs were getting larger and louder, the crowd was coming alive with every word the Black Divine said. She forced herself to stop fidgeting and looked above the head of the Divine. There a black bird sat atop a weather vane, silently watching her as she stared back. Her heart palpitated _hard_ before setting off at a rapid pace.

                “The kidnap of Altus Dorian Pavus, and the murder of Magister Halward Pavus in the intention of upsetting the Magisterium and replacing a respected Imperial Magistrate Family with an Inferior replacement.”

                Her eyes left the raven at those words and scowled as she saw the Divine smile at her warmly, she’d expected false charges but hadn’t expected them to pin the death of Dorian’s father on her. The bastards.

                No longer murmurs, the crowd was beginning to roil. She was jostled to and fro as the Divine continued. The volume was slowing rising and she lowered her head, watching her toes curl around the cold hard stones under them.

                “And lastly, against all Chantry Law and against the Will of the Maker, a _Malificarum_ in the highest sense. You used your profane power to lure a Sanctified Templar under your thrall and made him your puppet Husband and engaged in indecent relations. You ensnared those in power in the South and used your Wickedness to make War on a World at Peace. Inserting yourself into the Succession in Orlais and decimating those who opposed your Blasphemous Inquisition. I NAME YOU _MALIFCAR_ IN THE NAME OF THE MAKER!”

                The uproar was instantaneous, _Malificarum_ , she could hear every manifestation of the word echoing around her. Someone grabbed her shoulder and turned her violently to the side, a wad of spittle hit her cheek and she was shoved to the ground. The guard at her side pulled her back to her feet and led her to the platform where her Throne rose from the snarl of wood.

                “ _Malificar,_ have you any words to say in your defense. Do you not repent and beg forgiveness from the Divine who in his infinite kindness will spare you? Will you not give up your lies and throw yourself on the mercy of the Maker?”

 

                Aedraenne grit her teeth, allowing the guard to pull her into place and sat upon the Throne that ridiculed her triumphs and accomplishments.

 

                “The knife-eared bitch is silent now that’s she’s been caught!” The cacophony of voices echo in her head, and she closes her eyes to the angry mob that stand just beyond her pyre. The guard finishes lashing her to the stake and she takes a deep breath before raising her voice. The crowd goes silent as she begins to speak.

                “I do not grovel. I don’t seek forgiveness from your Maker, Pretender, nor do I need it from you.”

                “BURN HER!” The order is screamed from above and she can feel oil being splashed on from all sides. It soaks into her thin shift, her hair, it slides down her skin and it permeates her breath. Whispers of flame spells are said, she can hear them even through the screaming and noise from the crowd beyond. The smell of smoke is thin but gaining and she can feel the heat of licks of flame as it catches the wood and oil.

She begins to pray, not for herself, but for those that will be left behind.

               

                Her eyes fly open at the sound of her name and from her perch on the pyre she can see Bull fighting to get close, Cassandra and Blackwall at his side. But her name, it came from Cullen who was pushing and shoving to get to her, she smiles sadly at him. There are too many guards between them, and she can feel the flames licking at her toes.

                Arrows and crossbow bolts are taking out the guards on either side of her pyre, she can see Varric, Leliana and Sera standing atop the roof through the smoke. Dorian appears beside them and begins slinging ice spells at the pyre, but the fire has well and truly caught and it burns ever higher despite his attempts. She shuts her eyes and relaxes back into the Throne, the shift has caught and the flames are biting into her flesh. She wishes that Cullen wouldn’t have to hear her scream, that she could be strong…because it’s too late. She won’t survive the smoke much less the burns she’s already received.

                “Aedraenne!” She can hear him calling for her and she opens her eyes to his distraught face, he’s still too far away but he keeps fighting and her heart fills with love for this man. “AEDRAENNE!”

                “Aedraenne…” This one is closer and she looks to see Cole, standing among the flames unhurt and leaning in close.

                “Cole..” That one word costs her dearly, the ashes and smoke she inhale send her into a coughing fit that wrack her pained body.

 

                “Hurting, hacking, hard. Why is it so hard?” He peers down at her, hand coming to rest on her chest and she’s able to draw in a single breath that doesn’t sting terribly. “Breathe catches in her throat, coughing, caught, cages as she was.”

                She smiles at his words, as eloquent and verbose as ever, was her Cole. “I can’t heal the hurts, but I can take the pain. Send you to hearth and home, Halla and hearts. Help you to be whole again in the waiting. Shall I?” He watches her intently and lays his hands on her shoulder as she nods.

                “Cole…” She whispers, and he leans closer, “Take care of them, of him. Please.”

                “For you, yes.”

                The pain leaves her body, she knows that the flames, smoke and smuts from the ashes are still there but it doesn’t hurt and she’s able to see her friends and her love clearly. The light is growing bright, like it did so long ago when she left the Fade. But this time she embraces it willingly and as her eyes close for the final time she watches Cullen, her love, as he finally reaches the edge of her Pyre.

                “Ar lath ma, Vhenan….”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey....look I'm not dead!!
> 
> This is not going to be "Canon" in my Gospel's works, it's just a thought I had while playing Sims and watching one cook herself to death (like literally, who burns mac n cheese????)....who just happened to be my Sim Cullen Rutherford's wife.... =-=;;;;; sorry Cullen...
> 
> It's past one am...it took me a couple hours to churn this out...the second and final part is coming tomorrow/later today. Give a big round of applause to my man Thor, without him I'd have given up writing altogether. Thanks bro.
> 
> Any glaring grammatical issues will be fixed once I've slept. e_e;;;;; nini!


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